It was an impulse. “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. He had been gone entirely one day, for yesterday afternoon he had departed from Remenham House, and she had waited with patience like a saint, and now it was again the afternoon. I must finish it at home. " "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone. " "The pianist?" "Yes.
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